


cuts'n'needles

by fiskanel



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Awkward Boners, Blood, Caring, Crying, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Piercings, Swearing, Teasing, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:07:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22613053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiskanel/pseuds/fiskanel
Summary: Atsumu thinks that, fuck, yes, everything is valid now when he has Omi-kun. Just…A bit later.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 7
Kudos: 117





	cuts'n'needles

**Author's Note:**

> some vizualization can be found [here](https://twitter.com/fiskanel/status/1226119488548020225)

It takes Atsumu 10 minutes to pick up his mind and enter the tattoo studio, one minute per each nervous thought like “what if I don’t really need it”. He passes through the reception area with a petite girl telling him where to go, moves along the corridor illuminated with neon lines and finally reaches the cabinet. Fuck, he **_is_** nervous.

He knocks once, then again, and finally enters the room, struck by sudden bright light. The room is sterile clean; he’s been thinking about it a lot lately, getting the images of a creepy studio with screamo music playing to drown out the sails of people tortured there. When he was given the contacts of the-best-artist-ever, he didn’t google him. He actually didn’t need that as his imagination did all the work for him. Atsumu expected to see a guy with some extremely-dyed mohawk, with all those septums, industrials and other piercings Atsumu didn’t know the names of, with a huge tattoo all over his naked chest and back and definitely with black sclera contact lenses to make sure he’d come from hell with a one-way ticket. None of this turns out to be true.

The guy - Atsumu can’t call him a man, they might be the same age, fuck, he is young - looks just adorable, not the way an artist in such a place would like. Atsumu has seen the pictures in the corridor, those who come here are total freaks and so must be the artists. And this pure child of sterility doesn’t belong to here. He must’ve been planted or something like that.

“Hello,” even his voice is pure, when Atsumu ignores that bright edge of irritation in his voice.

“Um, hi?” he didn’t even think of a proper way to greet. Or of his actions. What should he do now when he entered the room? To sit on a couch? To wave his hand? To vent all his fears? Fuck, he is so stupid. Fuck fuck fuck.

Atsumu decides that the best option here is to look around, to explore the enemy’s territory. He casts a cursory glance at the walls - perfectly white - and neon purple lamps under the ceiling, then moves his eyes to the couch, covered with some strange transparent foil. He is distracted by an unpleasant sound, and the source of it is a tattoo machine, right in the hand of that guy, fucking vibrating. Atsumu seems to choke on his own fear.

“Chill, just checking, that’s not for you”, alright, now he sounds salty. His dark eyes are now glued to Atsumu. Fuck, is that a face piercing? “Do you deign to come closer and sit or do I pierce you like that, while you are standing?” Well, he sounds _bitchy_.

“Fuck, sure, ‘m sorry,” Atsumu attempts to hide all his nervousness behind this ridiculous chuckle, but it turns out to be so fake: he sounds doomed, as if it was his last laughter before the execution. “Do I need to...sit? Or lie down?”

He surely knows nothing about the procedure. He doesn’t even know what was the name of that shiny little thing he wanted to insert in his skin. Just...a shiny little thing.

“No difference, I don’t care. What type of piercing do you want?”

Atsumu freezes in his thoughts, sitting on the couch. Here he is, in a tattoo studio. Here is his artist, sitting in front of him on a ridiculous swivel chair. He looks godlike, with all his blackness, but his character is monstrous: these pitch-black hair and eyes, overfilled with sarcasm, are clearly greetings from hell. His skinny jeans are black, his t-shirt - what a surprise - is black, too, but his image looks harmonic in the total whiteness of the room. Ah, and the medical gloves on his hands, as for an operation. Completely black. Only the medical mask he is currently wearing is white. What a contrast.

All that jet and ebony of his image is only a trick for Atsumu, he tries to look deeper and burns himself with an inquiringly-mocking look.

“Got your head in the clouds, boy? Earth to you, roger!” fuck he sounds so mocking.

Atsumu is terribly bad at lying. He usually splits in the first seconds, burring himself alive. And this is clearly not the case when he wants to prove otherwise.

“I kinda don’t know? Some shiny little thing? Um... That’s it?”

The guy stares at him for a couple of seconds and titters behind the mask.

“Some shiny little thing? Are you a magpie? Always here for another diamond?”

Atsumu freezes again.

“Oh my, chill, I’m kidding. Just explain this concept of yours in a few sentences.”

“Like...A gem? Here?” he points at the hollow between this collarbones.

“Do you mean a microdermal piercing?”

Probably, it can be seen from Atsumu’s face that he isn’t aware of what he means himself. The artist signs.

“Like that,” he brushes the hair from the right side of his face, and Atsumu sees two small balls just above his eyebrow. “These are microdermals, they have tiny anchors under the skin and look like dots, or gems, if you like it more.”

“Fuck, I thought those were moles, cool! Do they -“

“We’re here not to praise my piercing, unfortunately, although I wouldn’t refuse any money for it,” he chuckes again, but this time no scorn can be observed in his voice. “Are you sure you want it? You look a bit sidetracked.”

“Yeah, I... I want it,” Atsumu clenches his fists. He’ll fucking do it.

“Alright, big boy, now listen attentively. It will take us about 10 minutes or less if you behave well. There will be needles and blood, but you won’t see them, however, my duties include showing all sorts of things to you before we start.”

He sprays some sanitizing liquid on his gloved hands before starting the demonstration: here is an ink marker to plan the piercing, alright, looks obvious; here are the needles - a bit wider than ordinary ones, but not that scary; here are the forceps - oh fuck, these look like a torture tool.

“Oh my, you are all shivering,” the guy notices. Wow, really? “I think you’d better lie down, close your eyes and count to 10”.

When Atsumu lies down, he hears that guy spray antiseptic on his tools, then takes out the piercing out of its package - the one that Atsumu has chosen, with a flat yellow gem in it, - and disinfects it. Atsumu thinks that his labored breathing might be heard all over the studio.

“Seriously, boy, I won’t continue until you count to 10. Aloud. I can put some music on if -“

“N-no, please, no screamo, that’s alright,” Atsumu mumbles, fidgets nervously on the couch: the film crawls under his ass, he doesn’t know where to put his arms, and his chest is heaving so hard that he can’t focus. “One.”

He finishes the whole circle, when the guy says: “Again.”

By this time Atsumu’s body is not that shivery and he wants to praise himself when something cold touches his neck and he almost jumps on the couch.

“Woah, chill,” that guy firmly holds his forearm, his cold gloved fingers pleasantly touching the skin. “Sorry. Needed to articulate all my actions. That’s the surgical scrub to sterilize the area.”

“How much sterilization do you even need?” Atsumu giggles nervously, scratching the film on the couch with his fingers.

“That much sterilization to keep you away from all kind infections. Now I’ll mark the place of your piercing. You should be still counting, remember?”

And then Atsumu is brazenly sewed up: he counts to five, when the actions of that guy get really fast. He says “I’m taking the needle”, and the next second, before Atsumu even starts to panic even more, the sharp end enters his skin. The shout remains stuck in his throat.

He hears something about “creating a pouch to put an anchor in” distantly, and then feels the tiny hole punched apart. Fuck, those mind be the forceps.As he prepares to scream and struggles with the weight that is pinning his body to the couch, the guy says something else, and suddenly all is gone. No needles or forceps, just.... Atsumu listens to his sensations. And at that very second, the guy presses the puncture, twisting something in his hand, and Atsumu shouts without hesitation, feeling like a finger has been inserted into the wound.

“Chill, chill,” he has to catch Atsumu again with one hand, while the other continues to press the piercing into the hollow between the collarbones. “I’m screwing you shiny little thing to the base now, fuck, don’t fidget, we’re nearly finished.”

They continue to struggle for a few minutes: Atsumu's fingers tear through the film on the couch, and he accidentally kicks the guy in the side with his leg while he pins Atsumu into the surface and continues to twist something. The room smells of blood, and Atsumu can feel it on his neck. Oh my, oh my, oh my -

“That’s it. Enjoy yourself, boy.”

What?

Atsumu feels a band-aid put right on the piercing and somehow manages to voice his thoughts.

“What?” fuck, he sounds miserable.

“You’ve got your microdermal, congrats. Here’s the memo on the aftercare.”

“So I can...leave?”

“Sure, not gonna hold you hostage here. You can take a breath and then leave,” when Atsumu lifts up, he sees the guy take off his gloves and throw them in the bin, where a pile of bloody cotton pads is already resting. Fuck. “Was it that bad?”

The guy is if not concerned, then at least interested. At least, Atsumu sees curiosity in his eyes.

“Well...Yeah? A lot more painful than I expected,” Atsumu admits. “Wanted to check if I’m ready for something more serious, but guess I’m not.”

“More serious like what?”

“Like nipple piercing, maybe? Have been dreaming of it since 15 years, probably.”

The guy, of course, bursts out laughing.

“Oh my, please, no. Or make sure you visit another artist next time, I doubt I can handle it for another time.”

Atsumu frowns for a glimpse of a second.

“I’ll have some time to heal and then will probably do that.”

“Alright, boy, not going to persuade you. Good luck, anyway.”

**x**

Good luck is something Atsumu definitely lacks. This thought comes to his mind when, a couple of hours later, he presses the bottom of his t-shirt to his neck and with one hand tries to find the number of the tattoo studio in his phone. Oh shit, oh no, oh fuck.

“H-hi? I know you’re about to close but maybe…” his voice is fucking _shaking_. “Maybe someone is still there and can help me? The piercing I’ve got is a bloody mess and I –”

He is nearly sobbing, running towards the studio. Please, let someone be here except from that petite receptionist.

“Yeah, I got my neck…Pierced today…And now the piercing is a bit out of place, and there’s blood, and I – Is there anyone who can fix it? What? The artist was… That total-black guy, with – With microsomething above his eyebrow – What? Omi? He didn’t introduced himself but –”

“What?” his gruff voice interrupts the mutter of a bewildered reception girl and the restless chatter of Atsumu. Yes, that's him, for sure.

“Omi? Omi-kun? Need some urgent help with my piercing, I – ”

“I’m leaving in 10 minutes, you’d better hurry.”

When Atsumu flies into the studio, nine minutes pass. His chest is heaving frantically, his t-shirt is still pulled up, and blood is visible on the fabric. Not the kind of a view that you expect to see at the end of the day.

“Shit, what have you done?”

Atsumu is pushed into the room where it was so calm, quiet and light in the afternoon, but now it seems a resident evil. The guy is very angry.

He straightens the mask, pulls Atsumu's hands off his chest: "Where have you fucking been? Your hands are all dirty, fuck, take off your t-shirt and lie down."

As expected, the band-aid from the puncture site is no longer there, but there is a pulsating and bloody mess. Atsumu looks scared to death. The fact that the guy’s movements become sharp only aggravates the situation: he takes out his sanitizer and tools, sprays cold liquid on everything, even on Atsumu’s neck.

“F-fuck, that’s cold!” he yells.

“Oh, really? That’s the fucking least of your problems.”

“D-do you treat every client like that?” Atsumu is indignant, hissing from how the guy’s fingers wipe blood and press on a puncture.

“Only those who are stupid as fuck. You nearly ripped it off, asshole! Have you even read the aftercare memo? The first two rules were to be careful and not to remove the band-aid. And of course no dirt close to the puncture. And here we are!”

Atsumu goes silent all of a sudden: yes, he screwed up. Maybe he shouldn’t have run to his friends and show off. Maybe he shouldn’t have practiced volleyball with them, and then basketball, and then football on the local sportsground. He hasn’t even noticed the moment when everything went wrong: he remembers that the guys were strangely quiet, and he felt sharp pain in the puncture, and then he saw the torn band-aid on the ground, and – Fuck, he screwed up so badly.

“Hey, listen,” the guy starts, massaging his forearm with one hand and pressing a cotton pad to the piercing with the other. “What’s your name?”

“A-atsumu?”

“Alright, Atsumu,” now he doesn’t sound so angry. His voice is again cold and calm. “Think of something pleasant while I’m mending you.”

Atsumu counts to ten in his mind, closing his eyes. The skin on his neck is a fucking hell, everything burns and pulsates. He feels a tear drop from his eye and roll down his face. Fuck, he is such a pussy.

“Oh my! No tears, please, I –”

“Stop saying “my”, I’m begging you, or else I’ll have a boner,” Atsumu feels his ears go bright red and burn of embarrassment. At least he’s been honest.

“That’s alright, chill. Arousal is a good tool to fight pain,” he says this as if no awkward situation has just occurred. Atsumu hears him take the forceps and feels them pull the gem. He isn’t howling right now only miraculously. “Some people tend to think of horny things while being pierced, so I got used to all those boners and moans. Won’t be embarrassed anyway.”

Well, now Atsumu might look a bit surprised.

“Try thinking of someone touching you gently, kissing you, some sexy girl on your lap –”

“No girls, please,” Atsumu whines, embarrassed.

“Alright then, some significant other on your lap,” the guy continues in a monotonous voice. “Are you into dirty talks? I can keep going.”

Again, Atsumu isn’t aware of what he is into. He makes a muffled sound and instead of getting shushed he feels a hand on his forearm, gentle and calming. The coldness of the glove sends shivers down Atsumu’s spine.

“It will hurt now, try not to move.”

“It _did_ hurt all the time, what the –” Atsumu doesn’t have time to finish the sentence, because a sudden flash of pain pierces his body, and he screams into the glove on his lips. Where did it even come from?

Maybe the guy isn’t comfortable with his screaming, or maybe it would be better for him to work with two hands, not with one, but now Atsumu’s mind is blown. It takes him a couple of minutes to calm himself down.

“Oh my,” the guy chuckles and wipes out a tear from his temple. “You’re still trembling. Water, maybe?”

“No,” Atsumu doesn’t even recognize his voice.

“Then if it’s alright, you’d better wash your hands properly or I’ll kick your ass out of here before you calm down.”

Atsumu is a zombie now: he drags to the washbasin on his cotton legs, thoughtlessly looks in the mirror, barely rubs his hands.

“Come on, do it properly or I’ll have to wash your hands myself,” he hears the guy say. “Do I need to give you a lecture on aftercare and germs?”

Atsumu shakes his head. He is so sorry that all those things have happened, he just wanted to have a shiny little thing, no pain, no embarrassment, just –

When he turns around, everything freezes. The guy is still sitting on his ridiculous chair, one elastic loop off his ear, and he is busy typing something on his phone, and Atsumu sees – He actually sees piercing. He doesn’t know the right name, but it’s directly above the center of his upper lip. It’s a silver ball, and beneath it, a thin ring clings to the middle of his lower lip.

“Stop staring like that,” the guy puts the elastic loop back to his ear and closes the whole view.

“Does it hurt?” Atsumu decides to ask.

“Compared to pierced nipples – no.”

Atsumu chokes on the air once again for the day.

“Do you… Do you mean you’ve got nipple piercing?”

“Well, you’ll never know,” he _taunts_. “If you need some help with your boner, you can use the bathroom, it’s in the end of the corridor.”

“No, I –”

“You what?” a smirk again. “Come on, boy. Wanna touch it? Have a closer look?”

“T-touch? What?”

“The piercings. People are usually like: ‘OMG how comfortable is that? Does it hurt? How do you kiss with all those things’. Maybe you are wondering, too.”

He spins on a chair while Atsumu conceptualizes everything that happens. What is that guy offering him? To kiss him? To masturbate? What? Atsumu comes closer, and the guy is still sitting on this swivel chair, with a sly and mocking look.

“Omi-kun, may I -“

“May you what?”

“Kiss you?”

Oh fuck he really has said it.

“Only through the mask, then. I don’t know what’s been in your mouth. If you rinsed it, then… Well, maybe, but not now.”

_Is this really happening?_

“I don’t bite, boy. Although –”

He makes a quick move forward and Atsumu winces.

“Alright, alright. Kidding. Now kiss me for the work I’ve done.”

Atsumu leaves on half-bent legs; maybe he’d better accept the suggestion and masturbate in the toilet, but now the boner unpleasantly hurts and reminds of itself with each movement. Kissing that guy was strange: through the mask he barely felt the shape of the guy’s lips, but he clearly understood when his own lips touched the ball above or the ring below. And the drool was more distinct on the mask, and the breath was kind of super hot, and – He liked it.

“Alright, Tsum-Tsum, you’re a perfect kisser. Nipple piercing is still valid?”

Atsumu thinks that, fuck, yes, everything is valid now when he has Omi-kun. Just…A bit later.


End file.
